"It must have just happened", he thought. Over the rise he'd rode in the six a.m. dawn to see a head on between the SUV and a Trooper.

He started gearin' down. Stoppin' just past the two lane blacktop mess he remembered that Robert Service line: "Hell, served for breakfast".

Kickstand down, engine off, he walked back.

The van driver was dead. Gallo wasn't a Doc but he knew nobody survived with their head and shoulders bent over a steering wheel and smashed through a windshield.
Skull top showin', skin flapped down around the ears. Steering wheel bottom was shoved into the space that used to hold the bowel. His eyes saw that, his nose told him that, as he reached to touch a spot on the neck. Just in case. Nuthin'. Warm but no motion.

He turned away, dry heaved a bit of bile, wiped his hand on his back pocket rag and walked over to the cop car.

Stayin' alert for a flash fire- gas, oil, coolant under every step- he looked at the heat.

Motherfucker was alive!

Pullin' up an eyelid- no pupil change but no blood in the white.
Breathin' shallow.
Maybe cracked a rib or two.

He was overweight by at least sixty pounds and that air bag jammin' him into the seat wasn't helpin'.
It saved his life and now it was tryin' to take it.

Gallo unsheathed his Sharp Finger and popped the balloon while holding his breath. It's one thing to smell leaking shit- another to inhale some unknown techno gas.

O.K.
Now what?

Dial 911 on the cop's cell and hang up when they answer. That'll bring 'em.

What else?

Ease the cop's piece out (Hmm- a Model 19 with the .357 Combat Package- this ol' boy carries a classic fighting gun). Unclip his keys and toss 'em both into the trunk. A public safety kind of move.

Couldn'ta been more'n five minutes since he stopped.

Real quiet.

Not one car had come by.

Whazzat?
Sirens?

Yeah, sirens. Comin' from the direction he'd come from.

Okay.
Civic Duty done.
Get on and git.

The breeze clearin' his nose, his head, his mind.
The van had gone over the center line.
"If you're gonna sleep and drive best be wearin' your seatbelt", he thought.

Then his stomach told him about something more important than thinkin'- eatin'.

Yep, it sounds about right for a head-on. You might add something about the incredible amount of debris, and the area it covers, like there'd been an explosion; and the glass, everywhere. Something about having to weave through the debris field, or something.

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Yep, it sounds about right for a head-on. You might add something about the incredible amount of debris, and the area it covers, like there'd been an explosion; and the glass, everywhere. Something about having to weave through the debris field, or something.

First I wanna get the whole thing posted.
Then Gallo has to copy it from the site onto his printer.
Then I'm gonna give it a read through and see if it is workable as a short story.

Meanwhile, I'm savin' up for a Then Came Bronson watchcap.

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Through the smoke and fog there comes a form ... shape shifting ... could this be the Future?